


Every Last Time I Come Home

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: AU, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Its implied, Kinda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7670680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan's resided in Chicago for some time now, forcing smiles and feigning laughter. He can't place a finger on what’s keeping him there, he thinks it might be easier to just fade away into the atmosphere, hang between the cities as a rain cloud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Last Time I Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "I'm Like A Lawyer With The Way I'm Always Trying To Get You Off (Me & You)" by Fall Out Boy.
> 
> I actually wrote this for a writing class @ school and I figured I'd post it, hence the implication of the relationship, not explicitly stating it. 
> 
> Brendon is veterinarian bc his puppies, it was either that or whatever/wherever beauty school would've got him
> 
> also there's an implication of a car crash, just a warning if that's bothersome in any way!! (also i know Ryan's mom did not die in a car crash but I liked the idea of fictionalizing something like that, rather than exploiting actual his childhood)

A muddled rain is cascading upon Chicago, the weather seemingly reflecting Ryan Ross’ inner monologue. He doesn’t want to be back here, he doesn’t feel at home, he doesn't really feel at home anywhere anymore. He feels trapped between the two cities, Vegas and Chicago. Neither has much to offer Ryan, tattered relationships, furious disputes, and lots of tears, all things lingering within the two cities. Ryan's resided in Chicago for some time now, forcing smiles and feigning laughter. He can't place a finger on what’s keeping him there, he thinks it might be easier to just fade away into the atmosphere, hang between the cities as a rain cloud. 

Brendon Urie is wearing a lopsided grin when he answers the door later that afternoon, 

"Hey Ry!" He exclaims in his bright manner. The sun isn't shining in the sky, but residing in some apartment along Michigan Avenue. 

Ryan doesn't quite remember the day he first met Brendon, it's been so long. He heard him before he saw him, that warm laugh still resonates within him. Some days the thought of that first laugh is what keeps Ryan sane, holding his distant emotions in place. 

Ryan shakes the rain from his coat, tossing it aside with forgotten effort. 

“How was your day?” Brendon is keen on conversation, contrasting vastly with Ryan. Ryan offers a shrug in response, 

“Stopped by the diner, saw Patrick.”

“How was he?” Brendon’s splayed across the couch, readjusting briefly to allow for his companion.

“Alright, said he missed my company.”

“We all did. It’s nice having you back, Ryan,” Brendon looks fondly upon his friend. A stretch of silence follows, Ryan and Brendon lean against each other. Ryan needing the support more than his counter. 

***

Ryan's eyes are empty, reflecting his eternal predicament. He watches the ceiling distantly, his search for sleep has gone awry. Outside the rain speckles the roof, a soft lull of a rhythm. Ryan dislikes rain, the precipitation carries a sour association in his thoughts. 

A boy perched expectantly on a windowsill for a mother who will never come home, and a father who was never the same. The slick of tires on a murky road, and the miserable weather and childhood to follow. 

The lone source of comfort in the present day rainy dusk is Brendon’s soft sleep in the adjacent room. Ryan entangles himself in his covers, aimlessly fidgeting. It never rained like this in Vegas, but there, Brendon’s presence was absent as well. Ryan wishes he’d never left Chicago, or maybe never come back. 

***

When Brendon departs for work the next day, Ryan sees him off. The apartment seemingly embraces Ryan, emphasizing the looming loneliness he feels. The TV provides a superficial lull of white noise, and Ryan bustles about the kitchen, trying to busy himself. He nearly drops a bowl of forgotten cereal in alarm when the phone calls out shrilly,

“Hello?” 

“Ryan?” Alex’s voice is melodic, in tune with the faint guitar rhythm accompanying him. 

“Yeah. It’s me.” Ryan hasn’t spoken to Alex in months, following his departure from Vegas. 

“Man, I got a job for you...” Alex trails off in a suspenseful effect, coaxing Ryan to enquire about the job.

“Yeah, what’s that?” 

“A friend of mine Z is working on an album, she needs a producer.”

“You are a producer,” Ryan counters dismissively. 

“Not as good as you, Ryan. I need you out here! It’s gonna be a great album, her vocals, my guitar, and-”

“And me producing,” Ryan finishes Alex’s sentence with the ending he anticipated. 

“Yes!”

“I need to think about it, Alex. I just got back to Chicago.”

“Alright, man. Let me know.” Alex’s tone shifts to a pitiful one, intending Ryan feel a sense of guilt. 

Ryan discards the phone heavy handedly, as he combs a hand through his disheveled curls. How will I tell Brendon I might be leaving again? He questioned in thought. He’ll be crushed. Outside the dreary weather perseveres, bringing an uneasy sick to Ryan’s stomach. The creep of anxiety that accompanies the thought of deciding crawls slowly into every crevice of Ryan’s mind.

***

“Hey Ry! Busy day?”

Ryan sets the current novel of interest aside, forcing away a grimace with a false smile. 

“Something wrong?” Brendon’s browline furrows in worry, detecting the nuance in Ryan’s smiles. 

“Uh, no, no. The usual.” 

Brendon crosses the room cautiously, setting his bag atop his desk, strewn with veterinary paperwork. 

“Alex called,” Ryan confesses this reluctantly, as Brendon’s eyes darken at the mention of him. 

“Yeah, what’d he want?” 

“To offer me a job.” 

Brendon halts, adopting Ryan’s grimace. His movements abruptly sharpen in agitation, he hurls his coat aside. The tension in the room forces Ryan into a defensive stance, squaring against Brendon’s unspoken anger. 

“Are you going to take it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You’re never sure!” Brendon’s bitter response resonates intensely with Ryan. 

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Ryan retorts indignantly, crossing his arm defiantly and narrowing his golden orbed eyes. Brendon returns a loathing scowl, his face telling his response, a response Ryan already knows.

“You never think about anyone but yourself, ‘how does it benefit you?’, ‘how will it affect you?’ You never think about the people you leave behind in each city! Every time you hop on a plane, on some pathetic whim and desperation to fit in, you hurt everyone around you!” Brendon’s tone elevates to a yelling jeer, his jaw clenched white. 

“Pathetic whim?” 

“Yes, Ryan! Every decision you make seems to shape up to pathetic whim, if you can even make the decision. That’s a rarity with you,” Brendon’s words are cruel, cruel because they’re honest. Years of pent up aggression and angst unleashed in a sudden confrontation. Ryan eyes burn, and he finds himself lacking a response to the brutal truth he’s known all along. 

“You make me miserable Ryan. If you’re going to leave, leave now. I’d be better off without someone so shortsighted and selfish.”

Each blow deepens the scars Ryan carries beneath the surface. The despicable words resound sharper from Brendon, tormenting Ryan. The sole person Ryan’s intrusted with secrets and promises, now sharpen those entrusted items and utilize them as knives to jab and antagonize Ryan. 

Ryan’s swelling with anger, eyes dampening with the words he's just been fed. His retaliation is one that was repeatedly enforced upon him as an adolescent, physical force. Ryan presses his palms to Brendon’s shoulders and attempts to cease the horrible shouts. Brendon stumbles backwards, crashing obtusely. He looks at Ryan directly, lip quivering, Brendon is deflated, his bright aura completely dim. Ryan is suspended in hysteria, unaware of his newfound capacity for physical violence. 

Before Ryan can even piece together scraps of an attempted apology, Brendon’s vanished, leaving a nauseating vacancy. 

***

Ryan’s trembling hand attempts Alex’s number, desperately begging aloud for Alex to answer.

“Hey Ryan!”

“Alex.”

“Is something wrong?” Alex adopts a concerned tone, as Ryan musters the will to tell Alex his final decision. 

“I can’t take that job, I’m sorry man...” Ryan feels the burdensome weight on his chest lighten, allowing his ragged breath to come more easily. 

“It’s cool. Why, though? Did I not sell you? This is a great opportunity, Ry.”

“No, no. I just can’t. I can’t move, I can’t-”

“What does Chicago have that Vegas doesn’t?” Alex injects Ryan’s response. 

“Brendon.” Ryan’s response is immediate and comes as a both a realization and confession, “I have to go Alex. Thank you for the offer.”

***

The sky is pouring misery down on the wilting city. The lake spilling onto the shore, belching debris. Ryan struggles to navigate in the darkness, the flicker of stray businesses illuminating the night. Water sloshes within Ryan's shoes and his tee shirt clings to his damp chest. His hair curls upon contact with the rain, hanging heavily in his face. He shivers brutally, cradling himself tightly. He stumbles forward, harboring himself beneath a store front. Brendon’s name falls from his mouth garbled and angry, his sobs come hollow and defeated, he can't summon the will to pick himself up. Ryan can't suppress his tears, weeping pathetically. He's aching with remorse and regrets every moment he's spent apart from Brendon, and every moment he’s hurt him. The rain refuses blatantly to lighten up, even as Ryan eventually heaves himself to his feet and wanders onwards. The rain is chased away from Ryan's cheek by heated sadness. He forces his eyes towards the foreign glow of neon, a sign confirming Ryan’s found shelter. 

The chime of the diner door sounds ethereal to a trembling Ryan. The hum of soft music is met with a pitiful, suppressed cry. Ryan understands the tune of misery and steps forward to watch the occupant of the lonely booth. 

Brendon’s face is contorted in angst, knuckles clenched white around a steaming cup. There’s so many thoughts struggling to escape from Ryan at one moment, desperate to attempt to articulate them all. Instead all Ryan says aloud is Brendon’s name, loud and resounding. The way the word tumbles ungracefully from his mouth suggests a deafening relief. Brendon winces at the simultaneous grief and ache in Ryan’s voice. 

“I looked for you...” Ryan voice peters into a hoarse whisper, as he crams his balled fists into his sopping pockets. Ryan blinks furiously as anguish wells up deeply within him, escaping through his swollen eyes, 

“Are you ok-” Ryan chokes on the last word and wordlessly curses himself for his instability. 

Brendon nods slightly, Ryan senses the lack of desire for any more conversation and shifts uneasily,

“Can I sit?” 

Another wordless nod. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I pushed you, I’m sorry.” Ryan’s apology is thoroughly unconvincing to Brendon, encouraging a scoff from him,  
“  
You know what your problem is, Ryan? You can never choose, make up your mind! 

“I know Bren, I know-”

“Remember Senior prom?” Brendon hesitates with a callous laugh, 

“All those girls asked you, but you couldn’t decide, so instead you bailed and came to my place to watch movies.”

“How do you know my choice that night wasn’t you?” Ryan watches the question he posed hang in mid air, taunting him. An emotional barrier broken, begging Ryan to repair it and retract his openness. 

“Because it never is,” Brendon’s response is a simple dagger, a clean cut through Ryan. Brendon watches him bleed. 

“I called Alex!” Ryan is a mess of pent anger, angst and passion, culminating in final confession, “I called him and turned him down. I’m staying.” 

Brendon is wordless to Ryan, face pale in oblivion. Ryan’s fists relax and he feels an uncharacteristic serene. 

“I choose you every time Bren, I kept coming back to Chicago. I expected it to be more poetic, finding where I belong. Suddenly I’d wake up and know where my home was, who my home was.” 

“Life is never poetic, life is messy.” Brendon says in a soft tone. 

“Maybe I never woke up one day and knew where I should be, because I knew all along where I belong.” 

“Here?”

“Yeah, here. With you, Brendon.” 

Outside the tumultuous rain finally ceases.


End file.
